That's How It Should Be
by rizlow
Summary: One-shot - Sheriff Dean Winchester/Reader have to escape, quick - but Dean won't let being on horseback stand in the way of showing a lady a good time...


He pulls you into the room, his grip on your hand firm, and your heart feels as though it could leap from your chest. This is bad. This is wrong. If anyone knew, they would think... But as he closes the door behind you, he pulls you into his arms and kisses you, and you gasp softly as his tongue touches your lips, then slips past them and you melt into his chest, all resistance gone, all inhibitions abandoned. His hand slips up the back of your head, and he starts removing pins from your hair until the soft waves fall down, cascading over your back.

He takes off his Stetson with one hand as the other spans your lower back, pressing you close to him. You have never felt like this, even with your husband, God rest his soul. He never - never - kissed you like this, like you were the only thing in this world that mattered. He never made you so weak at the knees that he had to hold you tight against him to keep you from falling to the ground. He never touched you except in your bed, in the dark, and then it was just a physical act that fulfilled his need, over quickly and leaving you numb, glad it was over. This man, Sheriff Dean Winchester, was awakening feelings you didn't even know were possible, and they were overwhelming you.

He raises his head slowly, looking down at you, his eyes narrowing a little as his tongue darts quickly over his full lower lip, and he steps back, shedding his duster and tossing it behind him. You are trembling as he touches you again, his hands going to the buttons on the back of your dress, and he watches your face intently as he loosens it, then lets it drop to the floor. His fingers find the ties to your petticoats, and they fall around your feet. He takes your hand, helping you step out of the billowing skirts, and picks them up, laying them over the back of a chair.

"Turn around, sweetheart," he whispers in your ear, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear and then nibbling at the soft skin below as he guides you, his large, strong hands on your shoulders. You feel the laces of your corset loosen, and soon he is tossing it aside, and you turn at his urging, his eyes meeting yours before trailing down over your body as you stand before him in only your cotton chemise and drawers. He lets his fingers trail over your shoulder, then along the tops of your breasts, his eyes following their path, his lips slightly parted. Your nipples strain against the thin fabric, and he brushes his fingertips gently over first one, then the other, and you can't breathe, you almost feel faint. "You're beautiful," he says almost reverently, and lowers his lips to yours again, pulling you hard against him, his gun and holster digging into you as his tongue plunges deeply into your mouth, his arousal evident as he slips his hand down over your curves to press you close.

Your body responds to him of its own accord, your hands sliding up his muscular arms to glide behind his neck, your fingers running through the soft, short hair at the nape of his neck, and you let go, kissing him back with abandon. A sudden loud commotion from downstairs startles you both, and Dean turns his head, listening intently. He grips your shoulders, whispering, "Stay here," and heads for the door, leaving your head spinning. He slips silently out into the hall, leaving the door open a crack, and a few seconds later is back, closing it carefully behind him. He tosses your clothing to the bed, taking the chair and propping it beneath the door knob.

"We have to go," he says softly. "Now." You look at him, confused, and reach for your clothes, but he grabs your dress, draping it over his shoulder and leaving the rest, and shakes his head, slipping his duster and hat on quickly. "No time. Come on." He grabs you by the hand, and pulls you to the window overlooking the street. Dropping his grip on you for a moment, he opens the window as quietly as he can manage, then steps through onto the balconey outside, reaching his hand for you once again. You duck through the opening, climbing out beside him into the darkness, letting him pull you along behind him as he heads for the steps that lead down the side of the building. He moves so quickly and silently, and you try your best to keep up as he takes off at a half-run down the alley.

"Where are we going?" you breathlessly ask as you rush along behind him.

"Stables. Getting my horse. We need to get out of town."

It's late, and there's not a soul in sight, which you're thinking is a good thing since you're prancing through town in your underthings. You slip into the stable together, and he approaches the stall holding his horse, grabbing the bridle from the nail that held it, and letting go of your hand long enough to fit it over the sorrel's head before reaching for it again. He pulls you closer, then grabs you by the waist and lifts you to the horse's back, handing you the reins as he jumps up behind you. "But there's no saddle," you start, and he presses his heels into the horse's side gently, taking the reins from you as he guides the animal towards the door.

"We don't have time," he says, then puts an arm tight around your waist, urging the horse into a quick trot, then a gallop, and you are soon out of town, rushing through the darkened countryside with only the moonlight to guide you.

You have nothing to hold on to, not even a saddle horn, so you hug his arm tight to yourself as you rush through the thankfully barren prairie, no obstacles to slow you down. You have no idea how long, or how far, you've traveled, and you are almost falling asleep, held securely against Dean's chest, when he pulls the reins, slowing the horse to a canter, then a walk. There's a stream burbling nearby, and he guides the animal towards it, letting it wade in and drink, giving slack in the reins. "Sorry," he says quietly. "I've got some men after me. I need some backup before I deal with them. And I didn't want them getting their hands on you. The whole saloon saw us leave together, and they wouldn't have any problem trying to get you to tell them where I was." You shivered at the grim tone in his voice, and he tucked the reins under his thigh, freeing his hands, and pulling his duster around you. "Cold?" You relax back against him as he puts his arms around you, and you sigh almost contentedly. He holds you like that for a moment, the sound of the stream, the horse and a distant coyote the only things breaking the silence. You feel him nuzzle his face into your hair, and another shiver goes through you... but not from the cold.

His hand drifts slowly up until he cups your breast, his hand warm as he squeezes gently, and he pulls at the tie, then slips his hand inside. Your soft gasp makes him chuckle, low and deep, and he begins to stroke over your nipple, his other hand moving your hair aside as his lips find the soft tender skin of your neck and shoulder. "It's been a while since someone touched you like this," he whispers, and goosebumps bloom over your skin.

"No one has ever touched me like this," you answer breathlessly. Dean stops moving, frozen for a moment before he speaks softly.

"But you said you were... You're a widow, right? You were married?"

You nod slowly. "I was. For a little more than a year. But he never... He touched me, but..." You hang your head a little, embarrassed. "He took care of his needs. I thought that's all there was. I thought that's what it was like. For everyone. It never felt like this. He never made me feel like this."

His hand moves from your breast and touches your chin, guiding your face back towards him as he leans over you and kisses you gently, his lips caressing yours. "He was an idiot," he says almost angrily, and he hugs you close again. "We have to keep moving. My brother's a few miles down the road, he can back me up when they catch up to us. We can take it a little slower now, though. Because I want to show you how a man can make a woman feel. How a man should make a woman feel." His hand slips back inside your chemise as he speaks, and you take a shaky breath as he shifts his lower body tightly against you, and you feel his erection hard against your lower back. He lets out a soft moan right next to your ear, and you feel an ache between your thighs as he nips softly at your neck, then runs his tongue lightly over the bite.

He takes his hand out, leaving you aching for his touch, but then he gathers the bottom of the chemise in his hand, pulling it up and to the side, then reaching for the ties on your drawers. You draw in a sharp breath, almost protesting as he slips his hand inside, his fingers gliding over your belly and down between your thighs, and your hips raise up of their own accord as he whispers into your ear.

"This is how a man should make you feel, sweetheart," he says, and sighs softly as he caresses your folds, putting pressure on a spot that makes you cry out, almost jerking out of his grasp. He hushes you, lessening the pressure, stroking over your most intimate parts, his lips kissing, gently sucking, teeth nibbling at your neck as your body responds to his touch. He takes the reins back into one hand, his heels urging the horse to move again, but his fingers never stop moving over you, and you reach back to grasp at his thighs as you feel him actually slip a finger up inside you. You're whimpering now, not familiar with the shocks of pleasure zipping through your nerves, making everything intense and bright and hot inside you.

Another finger slips inside you, stretching you further and causing you to cry out more loudly, and Dean coaxes the horse into a gentle lope, letting the motion of the animal do the work and rub that swollen little nub hard against the heel of his hand with each stride. "Dean..." you implored, a note of fear in your voice, and he hushed you gently again.

"It's nothing to be afraid of, sweetheart," he whispered. "Just let it happen. Just let go."

The sensations overwhelm you... the motion of the horse, the feeling of Dean's fingers stroking into you, the pressure of his hand against you, the hard length of his arousal pressing against your back, the sound of his voice in your ear. You feel suddenly as if intense heat were flooding through you, beginning at your core and spreading through every nerve ending, shocks gliding up your spine, lights bursting behind your eyelids as your shout echoes into the night, your body thrusting against his hand as you push back hard into his chest. You can feel your muscles gripping at his fingers, you can feel yourself flood over him with your release, and you almost sob at the intensity.

When you regain awareness, you find that the horse is slowing, Dean's hand is gently stroking into and over you, his touch lighter, his lips kissing your neck fervently. As the horse stops, Dean tucks the reins beneath his thigh again and pulls his fingers from you, and you let out a soft, shuddering cry. He puts his hands on your waist and lifts you, helping you turn to face him, your legs over his as his pulls you tight to his chest. He soothes you, his voice quiet as he murmurs in your ear, telling you how beautiful you are, his fingers stroking your hair, until your quaking stops and you cling mindlessly to him.

After you sit quietly for a few moments, he leans back a bit, peering down into your face. You refuse to meet his eyes, almost ashamed of what has happened, but he won't have it. He gently tilts your face until you look at him, then bends to kiss you softly. "That's what it should be like. And that's just the beginning, darlin'. And if your husband didn't do that for you, then he was a damn fool." He kisses you again, and you respond, your tongue shyly dancing with his, and you feel his lips curve in a soft smile. "That's my girl. When I get the rest of my business taken care of, I'd love to give you a few more lessons, sweetheart." He kisses you once more, then grabs the reins again, wrapping his duster around you, his arm holding you securely as he touches his heels to the horse's side again and you begin to move. You lay your head on his warm chest, his heartbeat and the motion of your mount making your eyelids heavy, and the last thing you feel before you drift off to sleep is the kiss he presses into your hair.


End file.
